Confessions
by Lithuenne
Summary: A short blurb exploring how things might have gone in Mirkwood if Thorin had reacted differently to Thranduil.


Doors closed with a clang, their enemy surrounding them as the darkness of their woodland home was shut out for a time. The dwarves were marched swiftly into the murky depths of the halls of the elven king, the majority of them being immediately tossed into cells to await judgement. Only one remained. The stoic figure of Thorin Oakenshield stood tall, despite his exhaustion and injuries, ever determined to keep up the pretense of being in control. He was small against the mystical figures of his elven guard, but his majesty lent him several feet, making him appear to be a more imposing presence than he really was. He fought not to stumble as they hurried him along towards the throne room, placing him before Thranduil's mercy.

The elven king looked utterly bored as he gazed down at the dwarf who stood glaring at him, there really was no other word for it. His disinterest was clear, an expression honed through centuries of careful practice. He addressed the dwarven prince, king now, with bland aloofness. "Thorin Oakenshield, I had not expected to see your face ever again," he remarked casually, as if he were merely commenting upon the weather. The dwarf remained silent, unwilling to grace this treacherous creature with a response. Rising from his seat gracefully, Thranduil approached him, his brows lowering until he appeared almost politely puzzled by the presence of the one staring at him with such obvious hatred.

"Indeed, I can only imagine that your being here marks the attempt of a great quest," he mused aloud, after circling the dwarf a few times, seeming to get his measure. "The chance to slay a dragon, and reclaim a homeland." Still Thorin retained his silence, the action prompting a delicate frown to rise on Thranduil's thin lips. "I suspect a more selfish reason," he needled. "Attempted burglary or something of that ilk." Thorin flinched involuntarily, his glare deepening.

"What of it?" he snarled lowly, meeting the cold gaze of the elf with measured disdain.

Thranduil's eyes widened slightly in understanding. "You have found a way in," he accused. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The king's jewel. The Arkenstone." His gaze became calculating. "I understand," he continued smoothly. "There are gems in the mountain which I too desire. White gems, of pure starlight." Spreading his hands wide in a gesture meant to be gratifying, he raised a single brow in silent challenge. "I offer you my help. I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."

Thorin knew the gems he spoke of. He could see them in his mind's eye, clear as day. He remembered seeing them on the day the mountain fell, their pure light overcome in the blaze of dragon fire as they were consumed by the beast. His grandfather crying out in agony as the arkenstone fell from his grasp and was lost to them as surely as the lives of their people. His mother, his grandmother, neither had made it out, along with countless others. Their loss stung more than that of the most priceless of jewels, and Thorin was stung by the way Thranduil brought them up. As if he even had a right! Still, he felt compelled for some odd reason to humor the king, if but for a moment, perhaps to see how deeply the elf had fallen to greed in the days since last they met.

"A favor for a favor," he stated, not really a question, but a demand that required an answer nonetheless.

"You have my word," Thranduil replied without hesitation. As if his word were worth anything, Thorin fumed inwardly.

His rage was uncontainable as he shook his fist at the taller being. "I would not trust the word of Thranduil if it were the end of all days!" he shouted, hoping for the entire kingdom to hear of their leader's treachery. "You who stood and watched my people burn! You betrayed us, and when we needed you most you turned your back!" Thorin felt his heart pounding, his stomach roiling as old memories careened through his head. He suddenly felt as if he had been dragged back in time, calling out in fear and pain to the elf that stood upon a distant ridge, unable to comprehend the imminent betrayal when the one he stupidly trusted walked away... He had been so young, so naive.

It was all too much. The past and the present colliding with violent force that shook him to the core. Their near escape in goblin town, the fight with Azog, and now this. Thorin at first did not realize what was happening when he fell to his knees, his eyes misting until tears were streaming down his dirty face, his pain a stunning sight to behold. Thranduil had frozen in place, the first sign of any emotion slipping past the mask as he watched the dwarf unravel before him. "Why didn't you help?" Thorin whispered brokenly. "I trusted you." His sorrow now ran unchecked, the words falling ever faster from his mouth. "Have I not suffered enough? I have lost almost everything!" His gaze never left Thranduil's face, shimmering sapphire locked on cool grey in a plea for understanding. "I just want to go home," he nearly begged, willing the elf to show some sign, _anything_ that would let him know he was not alone. That maybe he _had_ cared even as he turned away.

Thranduil's mouth had dropped open, speechless in the face of this raw honesty. Never would he have guessed that he could be moved to compassion by this dwarf who he should have seen as beneath him. He was called back to that dark day, his thoughts joining Thorin's on the ridge as they watched fire rain from the skies. Remembering the look of pure terror on a face so young and carefree. Blinking, Thranduil could not help but compare that face to the one now before him. The skin aged by time and grief, the once dark hair streaked with silver as already mortality sought to make its mark. Only the eyes were the same, this sudden vulnerability allowing the boy to shine through, baring his inner self for all to see as he silently begged not to be rejected.

They had never been friends. In fact, Thranduil was hard pressed to recall if they had ever even exchanged words in the small moments when they were in the same room during a diplomatic visit. But Thorin had spoken of trust, his innocent mind never having found a reason to think their once-allies would leave them in the dust. That innocence was all but burnt away, the fragile remnants that remained showing now in a way that brought up another painful memory for the elven king. The memory of a little boy, his blond hair framing a face full of the same fearful hope as he pleaded for his father to tell him everything would be alright. That his mother was not leaving, because she couldn't leave them. He had failed them both, and that had been the beginning of his descent into darkness.

Looking at Thorin now, be felt a strange wondering. Could he right a wrong? Was there even a chance at redemption? He couldn't return Thorin's lost innocence any more than he could return his son's lost mother, but perhaps he could redeem himself, even if only in part. Motioning to the guards, he called them forward. "Release them back to the safety of the path and escort them out of the forest," he commanded, his gaze becoming unreadable again as Thorin's face filled with a mixture of confusion, and dare he say gratitude. Almost, perhaps.

"My lord?" the guard asked with a disbelieving frown, flinching when he was pinned under a steely gaze for daring to question orders. Despite this, Thranduil answered the unspoken question, more for Thorin's benefit than anything.

"I have failed enough people," he said simply, turning his back on the room and resettling in his throne. He could feel the dwarf's eyes on him as he was escorted out, but he refused to meet his gaze, unwilling to face the unknown of what he would find, and knowing that despite his actions the group may still perish in what they were about to attempt. That was out of his hands. He could not get more involved. He would just have to hope that what he had done was enough.


End file.
